Normally the early autumn months would find me in France. However, in view of the current uncertainties of life, we decided not to go this year. Instead I realised a long held ambition to travel in the Western Isles of Scotland.

This was to be a relatively brief tour considering the huge number and diversity of islands off the west coast of Scotland. I’d hoped to undertake an open ended trip, returning once I’d run out of clothes! But the increased numbers of people choosing not to travel abroad this year meant that it was necessary to pre-book accommodation and, crucially, ferry crossings between the islands. We’d hoped to visit Mull and Arran on our journey back south but it was simply not possible to book a crossing at all during the period we were in Scotland. So our trip ended up being 16 days instead of the month I’d hoped for.

Our journey took us to Skye, then on to North Uist and Harris before returning to Skye.

Firstly a comment on the weather. Nobody goes to the Hebrides for the weather if your idea of good weather is warm sunny days. As the saying goes, if it’s raining wait 30 minutes and it will stop. And if it’s not, wait 30 minutes and it will start! That for me would have been acceptable. Instead we had a week of almost continuous dull grey skies and heavy rain occasionally interspersed with light rain. During our entire time in the Hebrides we had only one rain free day. A real challenge for the photographer. Whilst we were on Harris, Skye was experiencing some of the heaviest rainfall it had ever seen. The photographer Nigel Danson was there at the time and his footage of the river thundering underneath the old stone bridge at Sligachan was featured on BBC Scotland.

I’ve wanted to visit Skye for around 35 years having visited Mull in my 20s. However, I fear I was 35 years too late. I was really surprised how many other tourists were there, even in mid September when I thought most would have returned home. Motor homes seemed to have overwhelmed the island - they were everywhere. I’ve long thought of buying a camper van but after this trip I’ve abandoned that idea. A small camper van is one thing but the motor homes we saw were vast. Hotels on wheels. They clogged up the few main roads on Skye and even some of the tiny single track roads. The locals didn’t appear to be enamoured of them either. Apart from the obstructions they cause, their occupants spend little money as they eat and sleep in their vehicles. They are completely self-contained.

I had a bucket list of places I wanted to see and photograph on Skye but having seen the queues at the Fairy Pools, The Old Man of Storr, and Quiraing I felt dejected. But I had no right to feel like that. The people I saw were simply doing what I was doing. Who am I to expect to have these places to myself? After having a good word with myself I studied my maps more carefully. I found a never ending list of quieter places to visit where I did indeed find solitude. It was simply a question of making a little effort.

From Skye we took the ferry to Lochmaddy on North Uist. This wonderful island proved to be exactly what I’d hoped Skye would be. It is remote and some would say bleak. There are few places to stay, and even fewer things to do. Unless of course you love the landscape. If that it is all you need then you could spend a lifetime there. North Uist is an other worldly place. One of mountains and countless lochs. The few roads weave in and out of this watery world on their way to stunning beaches and mountains the shape of small volcanoes. And mercifully few motor homes.

North Uist is connected to the islands of Benbecula to the south and South Uist to the south of that by causeways. The archipelago is completed by Berneray to the north. Each island has its own unique character despite the relatively short distance between them. Benbecula is flat with few hills and seems more water than land. South Uist is more mountainous and has the largest population. Meanwhile wonderful North Uist is the perfect blend of the two and is sparsely populated, each house a lonely outpost against the elements. The mile upon mile of machair dunes provide a unique backdrop to the spectacular beaches of the west coast. Photographs of one of them were supposedly used by the Thai tourist board to advertise holidays in Thailand.

After a few days exploring the Uists and Benbecula we caught the ferry to Harris for a five day stay in Tarbert. An opportunity to also visit Lewis, the largest of the Outer Hebrides islands. I’d long had this picture in my mind of Harris as a remote and wild place, ringed with some of the most fabulous beaches in the world. My illusions were shattered somewhat as once again we encountered many of the ubiquitous motor homes. Not as bad as Skye but more than I expected. A local lady told me that in August there were so many that the village of Horgabost was blocked by them. The school bus was forced to stop a mile from the village to drop the children on the main road as the bus was unable to turn round in the village due to the motor homes abandoned by their occupants who had gone for walks on the nearby beaches.

Luskentyre has become something of an iconic location for photographers. Without doubt the seemingly endless white sands are simply stunning. But on the day we chose to visit the weather had improved slightly and the single track road to the little village at the headland was so choked with motor homes and cars we were forced to abandon and try elsewhere. This is when we found the little beach at Horgabost with its views across to Luskentyre. We had the place to ourselves.

Without doubt the most spectacular location I found on Harris was a beach about which someone had sworn me to secrecy. After 90 minutes walking in completely the wrong direction after a crofter and I had misunderstood each other about which beach I was looking for, I embarked on an hour’s scramble along an at times ill-defined path across the face of a mountain that dropped steeply to the sea. On a bright sunny day it would have been little more than an airy scramble, well within my capability having spent many years climbing and caving. However, in atrocious conditions the route became difficult and at times dangerous. At one point on the return journey I went wrong and found myself at the bottom of a steep waterfall cascading down a ravine into the sea hundreds of feet below. I knew I was too low on the face of the mountain but climbing up through the waterfall or across the ravine to the near vertical face on the other side were not options. Fortunately I had the wit to backtrack in search of the point where I had deviated from the path.

Notwithstanding the tricky approach, the beach I had been told about was simply breathtaking. The most beautiful white sands, with calm turquoise seas sheltered by its location. On a warm sunny day I’d have swum, but the skies were grey and the wind cold. The beach stretched for over a mile. I saw one set of footprints at the beginning left by a young couple and their dog who I passed returning from the beach at the start of the cliff crossing. But they hadn't ventured far and on turning a slight bend the pristine beach appeared to stretch forever. A place I will never forget and whose location I will never reveal.

I would love to return to Harris, perhaps later or earlier in the year but well away from the traditional holiday season. Whilst there we spent a day driving through Lewis in torrential rain to visit the extraordinary stone circles in the area around Callanish. One advantage of the appalling weather was that for a brief while we had the main stone circle to ourselves. Living as I do just a few miles from Stonehenge I’ll take Callanish any day. But I’d love to see more of Lewis. It seemed the remote and wild place that I had expected Harris to be. Maybe Harris has become too much of a cliche?

Finally we returned to Skye for a couple of days, staying in a bed and breakfast in a stunning location on the single track road between Broadford and Elgol. If I return to Skye it will be to visit these more remote places and venture into the mountains. On our last day in the Hebrides before heading south we walked across the hills to the abandoned village of Boreraig, its inhabitants the victims of the clearances in the 19th century. It’s lonely location overlooking Loch Eishort seemed idyllic but life there for the crofters would have been harsh. This was our one rain free, warm and pleasant day. We stayed for a couple of hours I relishing the quiet, taking photographs of the ruined cottages, my wife becoming increasingly bored! It was near here that we had our final sighting of a golden eagle which flew low over our heads as it headed south in search of prey. This was my fifth sighting during our time in the Hebrides. I’ll never tire of seeing these magnificent birds.

The following day we left Skye and embarked on our long journey south to stay with friends on the coast west of Glasgow opposite the island of Arran. We had no wish to join the traffic jams through Glencoe again so decided to skirt the Cairngorms instead. The views during the journey north two weeks before had been hampered by low cloud. The landscape could have been flat for all we knew. The return through Glen Shiel could not have been more different. With blue skies dotted with white puffball clouds the views were simply staggering, the glen surrounded by 3,000 foot mountains. As we wound our way round the shores of Loch Duich a temperature inversion created a thick mist suspended above the mirror like waters, the towering Caledonian pines on the shore peaking through the canopy reaching for the blue skies above. To my eternal regret we were unable to stop but that view will remain etched in my memory, perhaps as a more accurate representation than a digital image file.

Later, as we skirted the Cairngorm mountains with its many 4,000 feet peaks I made a mental note to visit this very different landscape one day.

If this description has whetted your appetite head to my gallery entitled Scottish Isles under the Portfolio section of this website to see these and other images from my journey.